


No Blinding Light

by Dathen



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Gen, No Spoilers, resurrection arc, surrogate sibling tiefling feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dathen/pseuds/Dathen
Summary: “What are you doing here?”He tilted his head, setting the jewelry on his horns to swinging. It didn’t sparkle in the candlelight like it should. “I'm haunting you, of course.”-After the group suffers their first tragedy, Jester gets a visitor.





	No Blinding Light

**Author's Note:**

> Because, logically, the thought that follows "I won't be able to bear it if there is a resurrection arc in Critical Role s2" would of course be "now I have to write it." Really just an excuse to explore Jester and Molly's relationship, which I love more than anything in this world.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't know much about D&D resurrections, so please excuse any inaccuracies in the name of of artistic license. Playing off some ghostslayer abilities as well.
> 
> Set at an indeterminate time in the future.

Death was something that happened to others. They dealt it out wherever they went, sometimes for pay and sometimes in self-defense, but it wasn’t worth a second thought. The name she gave herself was Jester, and Death was not known to that name, unless part of the game.

Her pulse raced each time she saw her friends collapse, of course. Silly Caleb did it all the time, nearly each time they drew weapons. Molly was nearly just as bad. If he wasn’t hovering silently at her elbow at the end of the battle, clothes drenched in blood from his and the enemies’ weapons, he’d be off lying in a pool of it somewhere.

 _You always make me late to check for loot_ , she’d grumble at him, pulling him upright as he fought to rise to his elbows.

 _You’ll survive,_ he’d rasp with a crooked grin (but would slip her half his bread at dinner, so it was okay).

Death was something that happened to others. Life was a story, and all the best stories had happy endings.

 The fight should have been like any other. This time, it was a grouchy mage who thought it would be fun to kill people to scare others (he had no idea of _fun_ at all), and who wouldn’t listen to Fjord’s best efforts to talk him down. The cave was a mess of iced-over floors and scorched rock walls and the stink of ozone in the air by the time it was over.

The ground beneath Molly was dry, for once, when she found him. _Come on, Nott’s going to get all the jewelry_ , she chided after chanting the healing spell. But there was no answer, and when she rolled him onto his back, no dim red glow cast magenta over his cheekbones. Under half-closed lids his eyes were black, like a beetle’s, like hard dead coal.

She didn’t draw in her sketchbook that night.

The room their reward earned them was nice, almost as nice as the Pillow Trove, but Jester barely noticed as she trudged inside. She lit a candle before bed and stared at the flame, as if the spots it burned in her vision could sear away the sight that pressed against her eyes. The echo of her own shrieks rang in her ears.

“Can't sleep?”

The voice was quiet, felt more than heard and nearly drowned in her own thoughts, but the familiar lilt made her chest seize. Jester bolted upright in her bed, breath frozen in her throat.

Molly smiled back at her from the foot of the bed, legs crossed, fingers laced together over one knee. “Me neither,” he grinned. His eyes were black like coal.

“Molly?! What is— What—” Her throat was raw, and she paused to cough. “What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head, setting the jewelry on his horns to swinging. It didn’t sparkle in the candlelight like it should. “I'm haunting you, of course.”

She pushed herself the rest of the way up and rubbed at her stinging eyes. “Even after you're gone I have to deal with your silly jokes.”

“You love my silly jokes.” Molly smiled in that fond way that she was pretty sure was what having an older brother would be like, and heat pressed against the back of her eyes again. “But no, it's true,” he went on. “I really am haunting you. I could knock over a that candlestick to prove it, but it would fall on Beau. ...Actually, that's a wonderful idea.”

“Don't you dare, she's super cranky when she's woken up,” she said automatically, and he laughed. His form was washed-out and shimmer-thin, like he could vanish between one breath and the next, but this was him. He was here. She could feel her face crumpling. “Molly…”

His mouth twisted and he sat up, gripping the edge of the bed. “Dear, no, no time to be sad. I know things are probably terribly boring without me, but I don't plan on being away long.”

“What do you mean?” her voice was growing thick again and fuck, she’d better not cry again— She was too _tired_ to cry any more—

Molly reached for her shoulder, and for a split second seemed almost solid (almost _alive_ ) before he caught himself and drew back. “It's...hard to explain, but I've been here before. When I was alive.” His hand wandered awkwardly to rub the base of one horn. “I know that doesn't make any sense, but it's true. I can— I can move around, and pick things up, I can travel…”

“Sounds kind of fun. You should tie the baron’s shoelaces together.”

“If I get stuck here, I'll tie every lord in the empire's shoelaces together.” That fond smile again, though it wavered quickly, and his form with it. “Damn it— Jester, dear, listen— There's a temple not too far away. There are rituals they can do; have you heard of them?”

“A resurrection!” Jester exclaimed, and Beau rolled fitfully in her sleep. So this wasn’t a dream. Something loosened in her chest, and for the first time in the past day she felt like she could breathe.

“It’s a lot to ask, I know, he hadded hastily. “I…know that you haven't known me for that long, and that none of you really trust me, but...but I want to come back.” He stood up, flickering out of sight for one horrible moment before he started to pace the room. “That probably sounds selfish, and it probably is. But I'll let everyone keep all the money I earn until the resurrection fee is paid off twice over, and—”

“Molly, don’t be stupid. We are all friends here! Even _Beau_ was crying.”

He stopped pacing just long enough to smile. It was fragile, hesitant. “Well, who knows what state you’ll all be in without me to look after you.”

Jester sat back against the headboard and folded her arms. “You are literally dead right now, Mollymauk Tealeaf. You’re clearly the one who needs looking after.”

He waved a hand and flashed a smirk, but it faded quickly. Jester found her own grin doing the same. A cold feeling was leaking through her veins, different from the numbness, and from the pain before that.

“Molly…” she faltered. “How do I know you're not a—a trick.” She couldn't bring herself to say _demon_. They had both been called that enough, she knew. Jester stared down at her hands. “I, I know I _want_ you to be real, but how do I know? Why do you want to come back?”

It felt a horrible thing to ask, but she was not as naive as most took her to be. She knew of the dark things that followed those with magic, sniffing at the cracks between worlds.

“I miss you,” said Molly with naked sincerity. The lightless eyes bored into hers. “I miss all of you. There’s no... _noble quest_ or anything...just… I’m not done, because I can't stand the thought of you lot getting into trouble without me.”

Something warm bloomed in her chest, chasing the ice out of her lungs. _It’s only a matter of time before they won’t like us anymore_. Her own words to Nott echoed back at her, and she was never so glad to be wrong. “Good enough,” she said. “If you told me some shit about noble quests, I would have known it wasn’t you.”

Molly laughed, but this time it sounded far away, like an echo in a cave. His hands were nearly invisible as they reached reached for the blanket and tucked it around her lap. “Make Fjord give you a hug tomorrow. He seems like the hugging type. Or I'll tie _his_ bootlaces together.”

And then he was gone, but the blankets were warm to the touch.

Jester picked up her sketchbook.


End file.
